


Like A California King

by MortalThread



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Author has a thing for Greg's leather jackets, Closet Sex, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Post-Season/Series Finale, San Diego Crime Lab
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortalThread/pseuds/MortalThread
Summary: A package of coffee. A visit. Nick's day is about to change.
Relationships: Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes
Comments: 26
Kudos: 46





	Like A California King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlowersOnMyMind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowersOnMyMind/gifts).



> To Flowers, who has been absolutely crucial to headcanons and hilarious convos about these two. I got you girl, I got you.
> 
> Title stolen shamelessly from Everclear.

Nick pushes his sunglasses up onto his head, reaching for the keys in the ignition. They’re cool in his hand as he stares at the gleaming glass doors of the San Diego Crime Lab. He sits back for a moment, head tilted against the black fabric of the seat, sun dancing across the windshield. He warily eyes the Tupperware container sitting beside him on the passenger seat. He sighs, grabbing it, flopping his sunglasses back into place. He pushes the door open, stepping down. He heads into the lab.

He flashes his badge, giving the security guard a toothy smile before heading further down the hall. He passes the secretary, plucking his mail from her outstretched hand.

“Morning, Jane. How’re the kids?”

“Still loveable assholes, Nick. How’s the dog?”

Nick gives her a wicked grin and shrugs. “Still a loveable asshole.”

He waves the mail at her and then heads into his office, tossing his jacket down on the chair and setting his bag down. He pushes the Tupperware into the mini fridge before plopping heavily into his chair. He sets his phone down, pulling his laptop over, raising the lid. He glances at the metal inbox on the corner of his desk. A stack of files sits, untouched.

He taps his temple.

He leans over the desk, pinching a file between his fingers and lifting it. He thumbs through them, exhaling through his nose, annoyed. He groans when Jane comes in, waving several slips of paper, an apologetic look on her face.

“Sorry, I know it’s early-“

He drops his head onto the hardwood, waving at her limply. “Nah, best get it over with. Who do I have today?”

She leans back out the doorway, looking down the hall.

“Smithson, Early, Robeson, Crews, and Delgado.”

Nick holds out a hand, taking the slips. He rises from the chair, back cracking as he raises his arms over his head.

“Are they all caffeinated?”

Jane nods, grinning. “Started them with Hawaiian this morning.”

Nick lifts his head, eyebrows raising.

“Hawaiian? Like…Blue Hawaiian?”

She leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. Brown eyes peer out through black framed glasses at him, twinkling. Her grin hasn’t faded and Nick eyes her warily.

“We got a package from someone. A friend of yours from Vegas.”

Nick’s eyes widen. “Please tell me there’s some left.”

She jerks her head toward the hall, and he stops to kiss her on the cheek.

“You know I love you, right?”

She slaps him on the back as he pushes past her toward the breakroom, slips in hand. He finds his crew seated around the table, mugs in hand. He barely acknowledges their greetings, beelining for the counter. He finds the opened package, digging inside. He pulls three more bags out, finding a card at the bottom. He pulls it out, flipping it over as he gropes for a mug beside him.

“Boss?”

He waves the mug as he opens the note. “Yeah, yeah. In a sec. Dead bodies don’t move, Crews.”

He feels a rush of excitement through him when he sees two words on the small beige card, written in a familiar scrawl. 

_Turn around._

He whirls, seeing a shock of blond hair and a tall lanky frame leaning casually against the doorway. There’s a grin on the face, hands in the pockets, and one leg crossed over the ankle. Nick drops the note, seeing the grin getting wider as he approaches quickly, pushing past an empty chair, nearly knocking it over on the way. He throws his arms around him, laughing.

“G! My god, what are you-“

“I was in town.”

Hands settle on the small of Nick’s back as he hugs him fiercely, feeling him gasp as he knocks the wind out of him. He rocks them back and forth, giggling. He turns back to the group, keeping a hand on Greg’s arm.

“Guys, this is CSI Assistant Supervisor Greg Sanders. We used to work together in Vegas.”

He sees a few smiles and one eyebrow raise. He can’t wipe the smile off his own face as he slips an arm around Greg’s shoulders. He points them all out.

“This is Crews, Smithson, Early, Delgado, and…where’s Robeson?”

“Bathroom,” Crews says. “He’ll be back in a minute.”

Greg leans into Nick. “So, this is your team, huh? Good looking bunch.”

Nick straightens proudly.

“Yeah. Yeah, they are. Pain in my ass most of the time, but we’re good. Got a twenty for twenty this week on cases. Right, guys?”

There’s a roll of tired eyes and Nick hears Greg chuckle softly.

“Well, nice to meet you all.”

There’re genial answers and waves in response. Nick tugs him over to the coffee. He pulls a mug off the drying rack, offering it to Greg. He picks up the slips before turning back to the table as Greg grabs the pot.

“Thank this man for the coffee you’re drinking, or it’ll be your last.” He holds up the first slip. “Early, Smithson: you two have a 419 near the zoo. Crews, you get a solo at the Bass Club, 419. Delgado, you and Robeson take the double at the Huarache. Now, git.”

“What about you, boss?”

“I’ll join Crews later.” He looks over at Greg, seeing him grinning shyly as he sips his coffee. “I’ve got some catching up to do here.”

He leans back against the counter, shoulder to shoulder with Greg, coffee mug in hand. He basks in the warmth of him as his team files out. They’re discussing the slips in their hands, giving sly glances back at him. He feels a nudge.

“Twenty for twenty?”

Nick tilts his head, rolling his eyes at him. “Grave got six, swing got four.”

Greg hisses, wincing.

“Ooh, ouch. Sorry.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “We pulled forty this week. Days got the other ten.”

Nick snorts. “How many strippers?”

Greg snickers into his coffee.

“Fifteen.”

Nick whistles lowly. “Damn.”

Greg waves his mug, pushing off of the counter. Nick watches his back as he wanders slowly around the room. He leans out the doorway, looking down the hallways and back, and throws a grin over his shoulder at him.

“Office?”

Nick smiles, shouldering past him and jerks his head.

“This way.”

He leads him into his office, finishing his coffee as Greg ambles around, pausing to gaze at the glass jars lining the shelving racks. He trails a hand along them, eyes widening as he comes across the fetal pig.

“You still have it?”

“Wasn’t going to leave one of the last remaining vestiges of Grissom’s hard earned, overly _weird_ experiments lying around.”

Greg chortles softly, tapping the glass jar. Nick leans back against his desk, crossing his arms. Greg crosses to the wall of mounted bugs, shaking his head.

“So, you finally did it.”

“Did what?”

Greg turns his head, smirking. “Turned into the next Grissom.”

Nick shuffles a foot, lowering his head, grinning.

“And what’s so bad about that?”

“Oh, nothing.” Greg bounces once, then sidesteps. “Nothing at all.”

He turns, eyeing the rest of the office. Nick let his eyes rake down his form, taking in the lines of him. His gaze rolls along the black leather jacket, covering a black fitted polo shirt. He looks further along, down the dark skinny jeans and the ever-present sneakers. He’s still as sharp-featured as ever, clean shaven, hair a far cry from the spikes Nick usually associates him with to this day. It’s been styled up: thick, short waves above cleanly clipped sides.

His lips twitch as Greg moves along the wall, taking in the framed prints. Finally he stops, reaching up to the pictures Nick has situated by the door. Greg keeps his hand hovering by a particular set. Nick takes the opportunity to sidle up next to him, bumping his shoulder.

“Didn’t think you kept these,” Greg murmurs. He shuts his eyes at one, shaking his head and laughing softly. “I told you to burn that one.”

Nick looks at the picture Sara had snapped for him of Greg, standing sopping wet in the middle of the lab hallway, towel barely hanging on to his thin waist, giving the camera the deadliest look Nick’s ever seen him capable of.

“Why on God’s green earth would I ever burn such a masterpiece? When Warrick stole your clothes? Hell no, G.”

“Glad she didn’t give you the one she took when Warrick _also_ stole my towel two seconds after that.”

Nick quirks an eyebrow. “That exists?”

Greg shoulders him lightly as Nick sputters on a laugh and he moves to the doorway.

“You wanna show me the rest of your digs? I wanna see the legendary DNA lab you kept telling me about.”

Nick pockets his badge and key from the desk. Greg stands awkwardly in the hall, mug still between his fingers. Nick grabs it, deliberately brushing his fingers over his, feeling Greg’s twitch under his touch. He gives him a sly glance before dipping back into his office and putting it down onto a filing cabinet. He makes a show of grabbing the doorframe and swinging himself out into the hall. He quickens his pace, Greg trailing close behind, and he turns into the lab. A pretty young tech sits at the desk.

“Hi, Stokes.”

“Faith, I want you to meet someone. This,” he says, grabbing Greg by the shoulders and pushing him toward her. “This is Greg. He worked with me at the Vegas lab. He started as a DNA tech.”

She lights up, sitting up out of her seat. She removes her glove, extending a hand.

“Hi! Nick’s told me a lot about you. Stanford, right?”

Greg flushes, turning to shoot a glance at Nick, who gestures back to her.

“Yeah, you?” Greg asks, shaking her hand.

She grins, tilting her head. “UCLA. But I have friends at Stanford in the biochem program.”

Greg leans over.

“May I?”

Nick steps back, seeing her let Greg look into the microscope and then at the machines. He grins back at Nick, bouncing in place. Nick snorts, watching him turn into a kid again as he looks around, rattling off the latest in DNA technology and listening as Faith answers him back, gesturing animatedly at each other.

“Faith, this is the guy who used to play ‘Name That Chemical Compound’ with me.”

Her mouth forms a small “o” and she giggles as Greg shrugs.

“I had to do something to liven things up.”

“Yeah, you did plenty of that, maestro. Grissom canned music for us all after you.” He grabs him gently by the elbow. “I got more, come on.”

Greg waves to Faith. “Nice meeting you.”

Nick pulls him lightly along the hall, fingers clinging to the leather jacket sleeve, and he pulls him toward Trace.

“Should I be worried you talk about me here?”

Nick turns back to him. “No, why? I talk about everyone here.”

“Mmhm.”

“I mean, I can stop.”

Greg shakes his head, eyebrows raising. “No, by all means. I just remember you once telling me to stop spreading people’s business.”

Nick clamps his hand down around his wrist gently, smirking. “Well, when you Xeroxed a hundred copies of a mostly false news article about me, then yes. That’s a fault line.”

Greg lets himself be pulled along and when Nick looks back, he’s grinning, still flushed slightly, and takes a deep breath.

“This is Trace. We have a Hodges.”

“ _You have a Hodges?”_

“A Hodges. Yes. He’s exactly like Hodges. It’s like they’re manufactured or something. He’s not here yet, though, so small blessings.” Nick pops his head into the room, the lights automatically coming on. Greg bounds over to the machines, eyes comically huge as he takes in the new technology.

“We don’t even have these yet,” he breathes. He runs his hands reverently over the state of the art GCMS and he pokes his head down the scope. Nick settles a hand along his back. “What was he working on?”

“Local case. There was a drowning near Balboa Park. Found some fibers.”

Greg nods, leaning back into Nick’s hand. “Get a lot of those?”

“More than we’d care to admit,” Nick mutters. “Mostly kids doing dumb shit.”

He jerks his head and Greg follows him, the lights going off behind them, and he leads him to the Print Lab. He grabs one of the files off the door hanger, clearing his throat. The twitchy guy behind the desk jumps, feet dropping off the desk. A spoon falls from his mouth and goes into his lap.

“Stokes, hi.”

“You got something for me, Paul?”

Nick can feel Greg at his back, and he leans back slightly, feeling Greg hovering, reading the file. He holds it up for him, thin fingers snatching it from his grasp and disappearing over his shoulder. Nick looks down sternly at Paul. He gestures to Greg, who’s still buried in the file. Paul looks up owlishly at Nick.

“Paul, this is one of my best friends and colleagues from Vegas. Greg, this is Paul. Our new print tech.”

Greg reaches out behind Nick, shaking his hand.

“Pleasure.”

Nick leans over the desk, squinting at the screen. “Nothing in AFIS, huh? This mine?”

“Yeah, from yesterday. One match to a Carol Dawkins, and two unknowns. Nothing in the database.”

Nick nods. He points to the barely hidden yogurt cup. “You done with that?”

“I will be now.”

“Thanks, man.” He looks at Greg. “Ready?”

Greg hands him back the file and Nick slots it in the door. He follows him as Nick leads the way to the AV lab.

“Bodie’s not in today, but from what you’ve told me, you guys seem to be pretty up to date. Same stuff. So, let’s move on.”

“Still breaking in the print lab guy, huh?”

Nick grins widely back at him. “Yeah. It’s been kinda fun, actually. Thinks we’re all out to get him.”

Greg snorts as Nick pulls him toward the locker rooms.

“Our facilities,” he says, gesturing grandly. “Nicer than Vegas, but the hot water is kaput most days.”

Greg bites his lip, looking in, and then leans back, nodding.

“Very nice.”

Nick glances around the hallway.

“Wanna see the morgue? I think Doc Helber is in today. He’s a real piece of work. Mad scientist vibes.” Greg licks his lips, eyeing Nick warily, and Nick settles himself casually against the wall. “What’s up?”

“What about your supply closet?”

Nick feels something hot rush through him and he tilts his head.

“Supply closet? For the kits?”

Greg shrugs, scuffing up a sneaker as he looks around the rest of the lab. Nick can’t find his eyes, seeing they’re everywhere but him. A new flush is working its way up Greg’s neck. The excitement returns and Nick scans the lab before grabbing him by the wrist.

“Let’s go then.”

He pulls them to a locked door, swiping his card, and then puts in his passcode. The door clicks audibly, and he pushes Greg into the room. The door seal pops behind him and he finds himself face to face with Greg in the absolute silence.

“So, gonna show me around here?” Greg asks quietly.

Nick smirks, then starts moving around the metal shelves.

“Hinge lifts, dusters, print powder-“

He pauses when he feels a hand on his back, and he tamps down a grin.

“Booties, cards, print lifts, bungees-“

The hand slides further up, finding the back of his neck and when he looks over, Greg has dark eyes trained directly on him.

“Scene tape, swabs, collection jars, bindles-“

He lets out a short, shaky breath and then tucks two fingers into Greg’s pocket, pulling him over.

“Flashlights, rain gear, rain boots, umbrellas, markers…”

He trails off when he feels him directly up against him and he turns.

“So, same as us, then,” Greg breathes.

Nick nods, throat closing. “Same deal, yeah.”

“Anywhere else we need to go, or do you wanna…wanna finish what you started before you left?”

Nick sees a sly grin appear on Greg’s features, and he unabashedly lets his gaze travel the length of Greg’s body.

“Oh, you wanna do that in here, is that it?”

He brings his hands up, cupping Greg’s face, and thin, agile fingers find his wrists. He finds himself staring into liquid brown eyes and he brings a hand down, starting to work the leather jacket off. He pushes against him, feeling Greg slip a leg between his.

“Yeah, you know, like old times.”

Nick hums a soft laugh, pulling him in as he kisses him. Greg makes a soft noise, melting into it, sliding his hands down around Nick’s ass and pulling him against him. Nick lets his own hands wander, slipping the jacket off of him.

“Missed you,” he murmurs. “Should have…should have visited sooner.”

“You got slammed, it’s fine,” Greg says hurriedly, making quick work of Nick’s button down. He pushes his fingers into it, pulling it off of his shoulders. Nick pushes him against one of the racks, rattling the evidence markers. Greg laughs quietly, pushing his face into Nick’s neck. “This is going to be an issue.”

“Nah, Early knocked over a whole rack the other day and no one knew until Day Shift showed up.”

Greg breathes out hard when Nick slips his hand down the back of his pants, digging his nails into his ass. Nick gives an appreciative noise.

“You been working out?” 

“Maybe.”

Nick nips at a spot under his ear. “Because you look amazing right now.”

“Not too bad yourself, Stokes,” Greg manages shakily. He curls his fingers up by the gray streaks at Nick’s temple. “Distinguished.”

Nick scoffs, digging his nails into Greg’s backside harder. Greg gives him a short, low growl, and Nick rocks against his leg. He can’t stop the soft noise that escapes his own throat, ducking his head. He’s unsure where to put his hand, settling for slipping it up and under Greg’s shirt.

“Polo’s new.”

Greg makes another noise as Nick bites at his neck, head tipping back against the rack. Nick digs fingers into the vee at his hips, smoothing over heated skin. One of Greg’s hands is digging into his back while the other starts working at his waistband. He tips his head down, watching him. Greg is going for his fly, and he makes a frustrated noise when he finds the belt. He makes quick work of it, Nick giggling into the space under his chin.

“God…damn belt…” Greg manages.

“Work for it.”

Greg settles him with a dark look, and Nick inhales sharply before crushing him into a kiss again. Greg lets the sides of the belt hang, then he’s deftly popping the button and undoing the zipper, snaking a hand down the front of Nick’s jeans.

Nick stills when he wraps his hand around him, knocking his forehead into Greg’s. He threads a hand through the blond strands, pulling lightly, and Nick thrills when he hears the soft gasp sliding into a short, bitten off moan. The hand on him stutters and he tips Greg’s head roughly to the side, sinking teeth into the space under his ear.

“Always knew Riley was right about the hair pulling thing,” he mumbles, and Greg gives him a shaky laugh.

“Quit it, you’re messing it up.”

Nick snorts, shaking his head. “Looks better this way.”

He breathes out hard when Greg tightens his fingers around him, shuddering when he gets into a rhythm. He rocks into his hand, digging his fingers harder into the one hip he’s still got his hand wrapped around. Greg twists his head, finding Nick’s lips again and Nick promptly shoves a tongue into his mouth, gripping the back of Greg’s neck.

Teeth catch his lip, pulling lightly, and Nick slips a thigh between Greg’s legs.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks breathlessly.

Greg grinds down on his thigh, breathing erratically.

“Whatever…whatever you want to,” Greg manages. “Whatever’s comfortable for you.”

Nick pushes his jeans down to his ankles, then fumbles for the fly of Greg’s jeans, wriggling them down thin hips. He knocks him back into the shelves, rattling them again, and he hooks a hand under one of Greg’s thighs, hiking him up around his own hips. Greg’s arm comes around his neck, clasping hard to his shoulder, anchoring himself.

Nick presses into the space between his legs, feeling him hard against him, and Greg pauses, stilling when Nick lines them up, the fabric of boxers and boxer briefs between them. Greg’s eyes fall shut and his head tilts back, knocking back into the metal. He lets it drift to the side, licking his lips.

“Those…those have to…shit,” Greg breathes, waving indeterminately between them.

Nick hums in his ear, feeling Greg realign his hand and Nick slips his hand inside the black boxer briefs Greg has on. He finds hot, hard skin and pulls him out. Greg wriggles a hand between them, bringing them together. He starts jerking them both, gaining speed. Nick leverages them against the shelves, feeling Greg bring his other leg up to wrap around his waist. He tucks his hands under him, finding his ass again. Greg keeps the arm around his neck steady, pushing his forehead to his as Nick shuts his eyes.

He finds Greg’s lips again, kissing hard, rocking into him as Greg works them both. Greg breathes against him, cursing softly when Nick slips a hand under the polo, blunt nails scratching lines down his back.

“Keep…keep doing that.”

Nick growls lowly, digging his nails in harder, pushing him further into the rack. Something falls off, and Nick laughs into Greg’s mouth, feeling him smile against his lips. Greg pulls away, dropping his head to Nick’s shoulder. He’s tensing; a sharp, bitten off cry as he comes. Nick feels teeth in his shoulder, biting sharply, and he feels a white-hot thrill run through him. Warmth coats his boxers, and then Greg’s picking up the pace again, slick palm against him.

Nick crashes his mouth into his again, crying out softly into it as he blanks out, shuddering hard enough to jostle them both, and then he’s coming. He spills between them, harder than he’s come in a while, and then Greg’s laughing quietly in his ear. He shudders again, pressing his face into Greg’s neck.

“Holy…”

“Yeah.”

“Goddamn…”

“ _Yeah.”_

“Why didn’t we…in Vegas-“

“Almost got caught.”

“Right.”

Nick goes quiet, letting the aftershocks run through him, feeling Greg shaking lightly. He feels blissed out, sticky, sweaty, utterly spent. Greg is idly rubbing the back of his neck, letting his nails drift over goose bumped skin and playing with the short hairs. Nick pulls his face from his neck, settling Greg back against the rack and he feels his legs drop from his waist. He cups his cheeks, reeling him back in.

He kisses him slowly this time, gently. Greg makes a soft noise, lashes twitching against his cheeks. “Christ, I missed you.”

Nick lifts a hand, running it through Greg’s hair. “Missed you, too, G.”

He kisses him on the forehead, flapping a hand limply between them. He tucks Greg back into his underwear, and then slips himself back in. He takes a step back, steadying Greg as he totters, grabbing for the rack. He reaches down, grabbing his jeans, hiking them back up.

Greg shimmies his back up, holding them closed and Nick leans in, kissing his cheek. He does up his belt, then adjusts Greg’s shirt. He folds him in when Greg comes to lean against him, and Nick slides his arms around his waist.

Greg is quiet, hands pushing into the back of Nick’s jeans. Nick grins.

“Round two later.”

“Promise?”

“You’re coming over. I’m making dinner. And then I get to see what you can do with that mouth that isn’t _just_ spewing useless trivia.”

Greg laughs shakily, nodding. “Killing me here, Stokes.”

Nick goes still for a moment, bringing his hands up. He cups Greg’s face, meeting his eyes.

“Come work with me.”

“What?” Greg breathes.

Nick hums. “You heard me. Come work with me. I have a position open for Assistant Supervisor.”

“What? And pull a Griss and Sara?”

Nick giggles, nodding. “Exactly. I’m the bug guy and you’re the sassy CSI who has his opinions about things.”

Greg’s eyes go wide. “Wait, are you serious?”

Nick shrugs.

“Yeah.” He casually slides his hands up Greg’s back, pulling him in close. “Think about it: you get to be closer to home, you get to come be with me, and you’re not losing your position.”

Greg pulls his head back, tapping Nick on the nose. “You’ve already thought this out.”

Nick cocks his head, smirking.

“Thought about it when you said you were coming out here a few months ago…had some time to parse it all out. And now that you’ve surprised me, I get to spring it on you.”

Greg tightens his hold around him, leaning his forehead into his and loosely draping his arms around his neck.

“I’d have to clear the transfer with Russell.” Nick bites his lip and Greg’s eyes get even wider. “You’ve already talked to him.”

“You said you missed California, and that Vegas was starting to get you down. Figured I’d talk to him, see if you’d be up for it.”

“Nicholas Stokes.”

“ _Gregory Sanders_ ,” Nick mocks.

Greg kisses him again, fisting his hands in his button down. “Gimme…gimme a month. Find a place, grab my stuff. Tie up some loose ends.”

“No need for a place. Grab your stuff, tie up whatever, and then come to my place and get your ass in my bed.”

Greg stares at him for a moment. “I’ll be dead in a week at your place.”

“And I know how to get away with it. I’ll leave you somewhere public, don’t worry. I already know who to frame and what my escape plan is.” Greg snorts, shaking his head. “Besides, we’ve wasted too much time.”

Nick tucks his fingers under Greg’s chin. Greg turns dark eyes on him, grin slowly spreading on his face. Nick mirrors it, dissolving into laughter as Greg peppers kisses all over his face.

“You asshole. I’m in.”

“Good.” Nick hums softly against his cheek. “Should probably get out of here. Get back to work or something.”

Greg sighs, nodding. He ruffles his hair, then starts buttoning up Nick’s shirt. He picks his jacket up off the floor, and Nick tucks his shirt in. They adjust each other’s clothing, hair, and Nick starts picking up the fallen supplies.

“Didn’t you say you were meeting another one of your team somewhere?”

“Bass Club,” Nick says, grinning. “You, uh…you wanna join me? Crews is a wreck by himself.”

“Ah. Got it.”

Nick looks at the door, sighing, then back at the unused kits by the wall. He steps over to one, grabbing it, and checks the contents before starting to pull other items down from the shelves and into it. He finds a blank TAC vest and throws it on top. Greg leans over his shoulder, hugging him from behind and Nick leans back in.

“I have my own in my car. This one will be yours.” He snaps it shut, spinning around in Greg’s hold, and pulls him in for one last kiss. “Come on. Got a dead body we have to go check out.”

He grabs him by the hand, twining fingers together before pushing the door open. He feels Greg squeeze his fingers, then he lets go, draping an arm around him. He curls his fingers around his waist, heading towards the parking lot.

Nick pushes his sunglasses up onto his face, turning toward him.

“So, what did you want for dinner?”

“Preferably something involving no clothing, your bed, and some drinks.”

Nick smiles wickedly.

“Oh, I think that can be arranged." 

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's been like, ten years since I've been in this fandom, and with quarantine, I started a rewatch and fell back into my old Nick/Greg bullshit. 
> 
> Seriously. It's been REAL bad, you guys. 
> 
> Anyway. Come follow me for more bullshit and join my pain on tumblr. 
> 
> justlikeregularchickens.tumblr.com


End file.
